This Fierce Loving by French Judith E

Author:French, Judith E. [French, Judith E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corp.
Published: 2013-12-16T05:00:00+00:00

Rebecca didn’t know how many miles they walked that day or how many half-frozen streams they crossed. She didn’t have the slightest idea where Talon was taking her, and she’d lost all sense of direction. He could have been leading her to Canada or straight to hell for all she knew. All that mattered was that she was tired, wet, and cold. Her throat ached and her face was swollen and bruised from the scout’s beating. She wanted something to eat, and she wanted a soft bed near a fire. At this point, hell didn’t look all that bad. At least it would be warm, she thought wryly.

She’d made a few attempts to ask Talon what he intended to do with her, but he’d warned her that voices carried a long way in the woods. He had made it plain that he didn’t want to talk, and his mood was less than cheerful. Finally, she gave up and concentrated on staying close behind him.

By dark, the misty rain had changed to snow. Her feet felt like wooden stumps, and she was so weary that she didn’t think she could take another step. When she stumbled and nearly fell, he picked her up and carried her the last mile. Too cold to protest, she closed her eyes against the falling snow and huddled against his chest, trying desperately to borrow some of his body warmth.

“Here,” he said, stopping short. He dropped her onto her feet, keeping one arm around her to keep her from falling. “We will have a fire soon.”

She stared at a one-room log cabin that seemed to have materialized out of the forest. She could just make out a small cleared area of raw tree stumps and a smaller log shed a few yards from the cabin. “Who lives here?” she asked him.

“No one. This is a trading post. The Frenchman Adrian Pascal built it. Usually, he spends winters here with his Ottawa wife, but this year, he did not come. Word is that Pascal lost a leg up on the Hockhocking River last summer.” Talon raised the heavy wooden bar and pushed up the door. “Come.” He motioned for her to follow. “We will be safe here.”

“Why?” she wondered aloud.

“Pascal used to be a Jesuit priest. He knew a lot about the failings of men. He chose this site carefully. This valley is haunted by the ghosts of great creatures with leg bones the size of trees. On stormy nights, they say you can hear them trumpeting.”

“Haunted by animal ghosts?” She followed him inside, out of the wind, and sank down on the floor, grateful that it was hewn log and not more cold, wet earth.

Talon closed the door behind them and moved across the room. “Pascal always kept flint and steel on the fireplace mantel. Yes, here it is.” In seconds, he had struck a spark and then another. In five minutes time, Talon had a small fire burning on the hearth.

Rebecca was relieved to see a large pile of dry firewood stacked along one wall.

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